Sword Devouring Swordmaster-Chapter 59 : Chapter 59

Chapter 59 — Race Duel (8)
「What do you think is the very first thing one teaches about the sword?」
One day, my master asked me that question out of nowhere.
“Is it forging the Mana Heart?”
「No.」
“Then… training the body?”
「That too, is wrong.」
“Then… learning never to let go of the sword?”
I listed everything I believed to be the foundation of swordsmanship — things my master himself had always emphasized. But he shook his head at every answer.
「All wrong, young descendant.」
I couldn’t understand it. Hadn’t these been the very things he’d drilled into me from the beginning? Yet he claimed every one of them was wrong.
So what was the answer?
「Everything you’ve said are indeed the first things I taught you. And you’ve remembered them well, young one.」
“Yes, I remember them all. But why do you say none of them are right?”
「Because you’ve misunderstood. You see, I have never taught you the first step of the sword.」
Never taught it — because he chose not to.
“What do you mean…?”
「And I don’t intend to ever teach you that first step.」
“Why not?”
To my earnest question, my master answered calmly.
「The first thing one learns in the sword… is how to fall.」
“……”
「Not just the sword — in all martial ways, the first thing taught is how to fall properly.」
How to fall.
「All who walk the path of martial refinement learn how to fall correctly first. Do you know why?」
I realized, thinking back, that he’d never once spoken to me about falling.
「Because one must know how to fall correctly… to rise correctly.」
“……”
「The essence of martial arts lies in not breaking. To fall, and yet rise again — to challenge again. To treat defeat not as final loss but as soil from which to rise stronger. To accept failure as part of training, to step upon it — that is martial art, and that is the sword, my young descendant.」
“……”
「Now think again — why do you suppose I never taught you how to fall? Why will I never teach you to?」
Falling meant losing. And my master never taught me how to rise after losing.
「Because you must never learn through defeat. You must never grow accustomed to it.」
“……”
「You must treat every defeat as a death. Be furious at your weakness. Hate yourself. Despise your own helplessness. Cling to victory with madness.」
“……”
「You must never lose, young descendant. Etch that into your bones. Never forget it.」
I hadn’t taken up the sword for enlightenment or inner peace.
From the moment I first gripped its hilt, my purpose had never changed.
「Only then will you achieve your true purpose.」
Revenge.
***
Warriors from every race clashed chaotically.
“You worthless insects! You came here as representatives of your races, yet you cower and hide like cowards in the woods! The Goddess Refri of Justice must be laughing at you! Do such trembling wretches deserve to call themselves warriors?!”
The Orc’s brutal axe split a tree in half. Blood spattered. Screams, roars, moans — the symphony of a battlefield.
“You inferior Orc bastard! Do you think this is a time of war?! Must every warrior risk their life in every duel? Not all of us are like you! If we die after fighting with all our strength, that’s one thing — but what of our responsibilities? My family waits for me at home, others depend on me. Who will care for them when I die?”
“Excuses!”
“Excuses, you say?! The Goddess Refri loves glorious warriors, yes — but what of the orphan children in the slums? What of my infant son, who hasn’t even opened his eyes? What of my frail mother who cannot live without care? The Nine Goddesses and Seven Lords may speak of holiness, but do they tend to the weak who suffer now?!”
Race against race.
Different lives colliding.
“If the Goddess despises me for this, so be it. If I am unworthy to call myself a warrior, then I’ll give up that title gladly. I’ll live on as a wretch rather than die for empty honor.”
“……”
“I cannot die yet. Unlike you Orcs, who at least care for one another, we humans don’t. Even neighbors prey upon weakness. We’re selfish, heartless — so I must live longer, you inferior green brute!”
Convictions collided.
“I respect your resolve. But the duel must go on.”
“You’re insane.”
“Orcs have been called that since the day our kind was born.”
Axe and sword clashed.
“Damn it, my joints ache. Move any more and I’ll be limping for a century.”
“Let’s return to the World Tree, elder. I can’t stand the stench of sweat in this forest.”
“Haha, we noble Elves have no need to mix with that rabble.”
The Elves, afraid of injury, withdrew first.
“When will it be our turn to step in for a proper finale?”
“When it’s time to unleash the most beautiful hell, perhaps.”
The Demons — obsessed with aesthetics, not battle — refused to sully themselves with the chaos. The Nobles of the Night valued elegance above all, and that very obsession was what made them as mad as the Orcs.
“Hold the fortress!”
“You bastards!”
“The beastmen are breaking through the line—!”
The Dwarves huddled together, desperately holding their ground.
The Beastmen prowled the chaos, hunting the weakest — following the invisible 「Line of Blood」 only they could see.
It was a scene worthy of the title 「Race Duel」 — chaos and artistry woven together, a war painted in every color of the seven races.
A symphony of conviction, instinct, and madness.
“Why in all hell are those Orcs charging when they have the advantage! Can’t they just let the battle flow? You damned green lunatics!”
“Because you all just stood there doing nothing! Hahaha! We thought we’d spice things up! Puhehehe!”
The battle raged on, wild and relentless. Each race fought in its own way, each revealing its nature. For a fleeting moment, the chaos seemed eternal — an unending balance of conflict.
Then—
“…Hm?”
That balance shattered without warning.
“Was the forest wind… always this strong?”
A gale swept through the battlefield.
***
『The dawn that day was blue — a cold, piercing blue.』
『The army that marched upon the Labyrinth City wore the color of morning upon their faces.』
The memory of the Ronin flowed like calm water.
『They were more numerous than ants drawn to breadcrumbs.』
『Victory against such a legion was impossible.』
『For they were not mere ants.』
『They fought with purpose, endured harsh training, obeyed disciplined command. They were soldiers.』
The world around the Ronin roared with chaos, but his heart remained still.
『I have no right to judge them.』
『There is no absolute justice on the battlefield.』
『Each fights for their own belief of what is right.』
Yet, strangely, in the sword’s memory, the Ronin wavered — flickering like a heat haze, like smoke from a village hearth.
『Do not think you can simply cut them down.』
『My blade alone cannot fell an army.』
『Then what must I do?』
For a moment, I became the Ronin.
The forest turned to a barren plain. Behind me stood the blue walls of the Labyrinth City. Within, in a quiet home, a modest woman lay awake — Dorothy. Trembling in fear of tomorrow.
『I must sweep them away.』
『To sweep them away… I must become the wind.』
If I did not, she would have to. Pure-hearted Dorothy would be forced to kill and suffer. Her laughter would fade. She would no longer smile at dawn.
I could not allow that.
『So I became the Gale.』
My heart thundered. Not just my living heart — the second heart within me pounded as well.
The Mana Heart pulsed, not with blood, but with clear, radiant mana. It coursed through the 「Path」 within me, granting superhuman strength — and that strength began to change.
“This… this is—”
A Mystery. Mana was no longer confined within me; it spilled into the world.
The mana of the air bent to my will. The darkness warped. And in my eyes, the 「Paths」 of the world appeared — countless invisible lines.
They twisted and blurred, stirred by the storm I had awakened.
And then I understood, faintly, the power within 「Gale」.
『A wind that sweeps the world.』
Distortion. This sword did not simply stir wind.
『A wind that blows everything away.』
A force that could twist every Path — distort the natural flow — and sweep it all aside.
A blade that could uproot the world’s currents like a summer tornado.
“Hah.”
I breathed in deeply. And I saw the flows surrounding me —blades swinging, axes crashing, arrows flying, elemental spells bursting, Orcs charging, Beastmen baring their fangs.
All of it — wind, every one.
I raised my sword and struck through the storm.
The wind followed my blade. And the gathered air swirled violently around me — then exploded outward.
“Ugh—!”
“W-what the—!”
The clashing forces collided in chaos. Metal rang in quick succession, and warriors were thrown aside, tripped, or sent flying.
Only I remained unmoved.
Because—『The center of a storm is always still.』
I alone stood firm.
“Hah! What a fascinating trick!”
An Elf snorted with amusement.
“You didn’t wield elemental power, nor spellcraft — yet you shaped the flow itself, through sheer mystery. It even resembles the wind of nature.”
“……”
“A technique like this… only the warriors of the ‘Great Land of the East’ could manage, ha-ha.”
The Elf smirked, and the younger Elves murmured.
“Elder, what just happened?”
“Something amusing. Do not attack that human hastily — you’ll only end up injured. Best to stay back.”
“Then… will you take him on, Elder?”
“Ha-ha, and hurt these old joints? No. We’re only here to make sure you gain experience of the outer world, not to die.”
As the Elves watched, I felt the eyes of the Demons on me.
“Wasn’t that magnificent? Quite the spectacle.”
“I feel like my protagonist's role's been stolen. Maybe I should play the villain instead — those are sometimes more popular.”
Arrogant words — yet none stepped forward.
“Step forward, and you’ll disgrace yourself,” said a cold voice. “Barons shouldn’t move before a Count. You’ll only shame our race.”
Among the Demons stood a familiar face —the one who had attacked Seol Yoon and me before: the Red Count, Hartias.
“Barons, be still,” Hartias said smoothly. “That human carries a hell in his mind as vivid as ours. Don’t provoke him. The audience is watching — I won’t allow you to tarnish the dignity of the Nobles of the Night.”
At his words, the others froze.
The Dwarves, under Dwight’s command, did not attack either — if anything, they seemed to be subtly protecting me. So now, the Elves, Demons, and Dwarves all refrained from striking. Even the humans rallied openly at my side.
“Dangerous aura…” a Beastman muttered, and stepped back. They, who could sense danger before it struck, would not make foolish moves.
Amid it all, I saw Dwight’s face — heavy, almost regretful. Perhaps it was because of what he saw in me. Though far stronger than I, the Dwarf General had once flinched from the mere name of Swordmaster Carlos, while I stood unflinching before the threat in front of me.
For a brief instant, our roles had reversed. He, the strong, looked hesitant — and I, the weak, stood tall.
I had proven my unyielding will through action.
I didn’t know how Dwight interpreted it — I couldn’t read his thoughts, nor understand how Dwarves reasoned.
But it didn’t matter.
I acted in my own way — as I had sworn from the day I first held a sword (劍).
“…Pheheh.”
Then—
“Phehe, pheheheheheh—!”
A booming laugh split the tension.
“This sight disgusted me so much, I came all the way here— and you’re still standing around like cowards!”
Thud. Heavy footsteps shook the ground. And through the darkness, a towering green figure emerged — fangs bared in a savage grin.
“You!”
There are races that hesitate in any situation — and those that never do.
A race that laughs even when facing all five others at once.
Mad warriors who live for battle.
“You, human! You’re different from the cowards!”
The Orc.
“I can tell from your eyes — you won’t run from a fight. You’ve got the eyes of an Orc!”
And the one stomping toward me wasn’t just any Orc. That voice — that face — I knew it well.
How could I not?
“I, Elder Behera of the Orcs, challenge you to a duel! Behera, the glorious Orc King who drew Tag #444, declares it!”
It was the same lunatic who had shouted provocations at the very start of the Race Duel.
“Valiant Behera never flees from battle!”
As his roar tore through the night, I stared at him down.
Unlike most warriors who lost their nerve before Orc madness, I knew exactly how to deal with their kind.
“Is that so? Then why does the valiant Behera keep lying?”
“What did you say?! Pshrk!”
“Are you truly the Orc King?”
“Of course I am!”
As the overconfident Behera bared his tusks, I calmly reached into my coat. And drew out the shining tag — the human race’s royal Tag #444.
The entire battlefield froze.
For a breath, for a heartbeat, the world stood still.
“Well then,” I said quietly, “why don’t you take yours out?”
Madness must be met—with madness.